


you don't have to wear (your best fake smile)

by coffeelouis (silverspoonharry)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: College AU, M/M, They were 13, Univeristy AU, not really - Freeform, post-break up au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 16:57:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8293217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverspoonharry/pseuds/coffeelouis
Summary: When Harry was 12, he moved to Holmes Chapel and broke up with his first boyfriend. When Harry is 20, he sits next to Louis in class, and, although Louis wears Harry's beloved Manchester United sweatshirt every day, doesn't seem to have any recollection of them dating.





	

**Author's Note:**

> based on [ this. ](http://britainfucking.tumblr.com/post/149350550504/a-fic-where-way-back-in-middle-school-harry-and)
> 
> this is real shitty and i acknowledge that and i apologize but tbh im too lazy to fix it

The first thing Harry sees when he walks into his Chaucer seminar on the first day is the old Manchester United sweatshirt that he’d given to his boyfriend, Louis, on the day he moved to Holmes Chapel at the end of Year 8. He tries to place the face, tries to figure out if that’s actually Louis or just some undergrad in a really ratty sweatshirt, but he can’t. So he does the next best thing. 

He Facebook stalks him. 

He probably looks a little off; Everyone else is listening to the professor’s introductions, while Harry is very intently staring at his screen. It’s clear he’s not taking notes (what could he possibly need to keep track of on the first day) but he hopes it at least comes across like he’s checking to make sure he has all the right books. 

Nonetheless, he quickly finds Louis Tomlinson, and that they have 32 mutual friends. Some are, of course, friends from Doncaster that had looked Harry up after he finally gave in and made a Facebook in Year 11, but most are Uni friends. 

He then clicks on his profile picture, and yes, there is the boy sitting two rows ahead and three seats to the left of him. Louis Tomlinson, Harry’s tragic thirteen-year-old lost love. 

He looks really good. His hair is styled upwards in a neat quiff and he’s filled out a bit, slightly less skinny than he’d been in secondary school. He’s still small enough to fit into Harry’s sweatshirt though, and he finds it all kinds of sweet that Louis’ still wearing it. 

It probably doesn’t mean anything. Hell, Harry is a confident, independent 20-year-old man, he’s not still hung up on his secondary school crushes. But, still. Nice. 

He sits up straight, runs a hand through his hair, and fluffs it up a bit. Might as well look nice if Louis happens to look over here. 

He doesn’t though. Throughout the entire hour and a half lecture, or afterwards, when Harry accidentally drops his books and makes a big ruckus in the back of the room, he doesn’t spare him even one glance. 

He doesn’t say anything two days later either, or two days after that, when Harry specifically arrives just before class is set to start, in order to make a dramatic entrance. 

The following Monday, he resorts to drastic measures. He switches up the unspoken seating assignments,and instead sits two seats over from Louis. When Louis still doesn’t say anything, he does it again on Wednesday, and asks Louis if he can borrow a pen. Louis shrugs, saying that he doesn’t carry an extra (which Harry thinks is incredibly stupid. What if his runs out of ink? Harry always has about three extra pens in his pack) but a girl sitting a row in front of them turns and offers Harry a pen, smiling sweetly at him. 

Harry doesn’t get a chance to do anything else after class ends, as the girl turns around, crosses her arms to push her breasts up and out of her top, and smacks her gum at Harry. By the time she gets the sense he isn’t interested and he looks up, Louis is already slipping out of the classroom, and Harry is irrationally annoyed that Louis doesn’t seem to remember him. 

He tries one last time on Friday. He smiles at Louis when they sit down, and tells him he likes his sweatshirt. Harry’s sweatshirt. The Manchester United sweatshirt that he’s worn to their MWF class every single day so far. 

Louis smiles. “Thanks, mate. You a fan?" 

“Yeah, huge,” Harry answers. “I was obsessed in Year 8," he pushes. 

Louis laughs. “Weren’t we all?" 

Before Harry has a chance to say anything else, and possibly (definitely) embarrass himself, their professor comes in and begins the lecture. 

At this point, Harry doesn’t care if it’s irrational. He’s annoyed. Louis was the most beautiful boyfriend he ever had. He’s dated plenty of guys since then, and none of them had compared. Even though he was dorky, excitable, and much-too-loud, thirteen-year-old Louis was a great boyfriend. 

Harry is deeply offended Louis doesn’t return the fond remembrance. He must have forgotten all about Harry when he and his family moved away. 

Well, fuck that. Harry doesn’t even care. Harry will be chill. 

Only, then Louis shows up late to class on Monday, and slides into the seat right next to Harry. He doesn’t even try to play it cool, leaving one empty in between, he full-on sits next to Harry, their arms brushing as he reaches to get his books out of his bag. 

“Do you want a cup of coffee?" He mumbles, once he’s prepared, even though the professor has already started speaking. He uses the tip of his pencil eraser to push the coffee cup he’s set on the table towards Harry. 

“What?” Harry asks, bewildered.

“They gave me coffee instead of tea, and it’s the morning rush, I didn’t want to slow anything down. You want it?" 

“Oh,” Harry smiles, “Sure, thanks.” He takes a sip, winking gratefully at Louis, then cursing himself. That was dumb. So dumb. But Louis is getting red and flustered, picking up his pen and writing the date in the corner of his notebook, so maybe, you know. 

Harry spends most of the class period trying to decide if should ask his Year 8 ex-boyfriend out, but Louis ends up racing out of class the second it’s over, and he doesn’t get the chance. 

He chickens out during the next class, and the next, and the next. Louis continues to sit down next to him,continues to wear Harry’s Manchester United sweatshirt, and continues to be as attractive as ever. Harry feels overwhelmed with lust every time Louis pulls the sleeves of Harry sweater down over his hands and curls up in his chair, listening to their lecturer. 

He’s into full-on crush territory now, and it’s weird. He shouldn’t be so nervous about it, Louis has dated him before. He’d probably do it again. Hopefully.

But the fact that he doesn’t remember Harry makes him self-conscious. Obviously he hadn’t made very much of an impact, Louis had forgotten him after he moved away. He still really likes him though. He still really likes the way he always tries to make Harry laugh, even when they’re in the middle of class and their grade could definitely be affected. He likes his hair, and his eyes, and his smile. He likes that he’s so small it almost seems like he’s swimming in Harry’s sweatshirt every day. 

He even mentions it once. “You really seem to like that sweatshirt," he jokes. “Did you shrink since getting it though?" 

Louis goes red and looks down at his lap. “It’s from an ex-boyfriend," he mutters. Harry raises his eyebrows, think she’s finally done it. Louis’ finally figured it out, but then Louis pushes his shoulder and turns back to his notebook. “Shut up.” 

“I didn’t say anything," Harry insists, but he can’t help the tug of disappointment in his belly. 

He’s completely infatuated, loves everything about Louis and he wishes Louis would just remember. 

It doesn’t matter though, because at the end of September, Louis stops him on his way out of class, “Hey, do you uh—" He pauses, raking a hand through his hair. “Do you want to study for Monday’s midterm with me?" 

Harry can feel his face break out into a grin and nods, his hair falling in his face. “Yeah! Yeah I’d really like that." 

“Great uh..If you want to give me your phone I can put in my number? And we can meet up in the library?" 

“Sure! I’m free Saturday! And Sunday. And after this! Anytime really." 

Louis laughs. “As long as it’s not too early," he jokes. 

They decide on Sunday at noon, giving Louis time to sleep in and get over his likely hangover. And because he said he hates doing homework on Saturdays. It ends up being great though, Louis is tired and slow and adorably cute. His hands are bundled in his sleeves for the entire afternoon, and he’s giggly and Harry has literally never been more endeared to a person. If he wasn’t so stressed about their test the next day, he’d be asking Louis to take him right here. 

As it turns out, he aces the midterm and so does Louis. They go out for drinks to celebrate, but Louis invites his friend Liam, so it’s very obviously not a date. 

It’s fine. They’re spending a lot of time together now, and Harry’s ran into him on campus a couple times, and it’s good. It’s good. They’re friends, and that makes it all better. Because Louis is funny. He’s funny and nice and a great person to hang out with and Harry is so endlessly endeared. Here’s this excitable kid who was his first-ever boyfriend, the one he’d clung to while figuring out his sexuality, and he’s still just as awesome as ever. Only back then he was cute and now he’s sexy. 

And it’s all just a tiny bit pathetic because Harry is so gone for him (again, just like he was when he wa sfucking thirteen) and Louis is completely oblivious. He doesn’t even remember they dated. 

Harry’s pathetic. 

He’s thinking that as he gets ready with Cara, modeling a new button-down he’d bought for the Drama party. 

“Harry, you’re not pathetic. He probably just doesn’t recognize you. I mean, you’re incredibly mature, and sexy." 

Harry rolls his eyes, “You didn’t even know me back then." 

“Yeah, but I’ve stalked you on Facebook. You look incredibly different from when you were sixteen, let alone thirteen. I’m telling you, he just doesn’t recognize you. I’m sure he’s still pining over his lost thirteen-year-old love too." 

“Oh shut up, I am not." 

She smirks but doesn’t respond, tugging on his shirt a bit before heading out of his apartment without him, forcing him to stumble and run after her. 

She picked him up after the party had already started, planning to make a fashionably late entrance so people would have actually arrived by the time they got there, and she’s planned it perfectly: there are just enough people for it to not be awkward, but intimate enough that it’s not overwhelming. There’s a bunch people dancing in the apartment’s living room, a couple smoking on the balcony, and a few mingling in the kitchen. Harry follows Cara in to get drinks, but she runs into her friend, and he’s quickly playing third wheel while they catch up. 

He’s getting progressively more bored with his situation when he sees a quick flash of quiff back out in the living room. He follows his instinct and is faced with Louis maneuvering expertly through the crowd, his small body squeezing quickly and efficiently through the tight press of bodies. Harry is just about to call out to him, but then realizes what exactly Louis had been looking for. He hands one of his solo cups to a big guy, and turns around, grinding against him.

Harry stops in his tracks, watching for a few moments as Louis smiles seductively and pulls the man in closer to him. Then he drops his solo cup on the entrance table, and slips out the door. 

 

Louis is wearing the sweatshirt again on Monday morning. He’s got the hood pulled up over his soft hair, and his hands tucked in the sleeves like gloves, and he looks as cute as ever, trying to hold his pen without sacrificing his warmth. 

Harry can’t handle these feelings he has for him. He feels pathetic, pining after his first ever boyfriend. From fucking Year 8. So, he’s not proud of it, but after 40 minutes of Louis stretching, and yawning, and nodding off, and basically acting like an adorable bunny, Harry cracks.

“I want my sweatshirt back,” he mumbles, not taking his eyes off the PowerPoint slide as he takes down notes. 

“What?” Louis whispers back, the first thing he’s said all morning, other than a gentle hello. 

“My sweatshirt. I want it back,” Harry clarifies, still feeling too cowardly and childish to actually look over at him.

“I don’t have your sweatshirt,” Louis says, putting down his pen and turning to face Harry, making it glaringly obvious that he’s not paying attention. “What are you talking about?” 

Harry turns and narrows his eyes at him, “That sweatshirt is mine, and I want it back.” 

“It is not!” Louis balks. “My ex-boyfriend gave me this sweatshirt.” 

Harry just watches him, deadpan. The girls a row ahead have taken to glancing behind them, watching, but Harry ignores them. 

“I swear, you arsehole. In Year 8. My boyfriend, Harry—” 

He stops dead and just stares, his eyes widening. 

Harry shrugs. “I want it back.” 

Louis glares, “How long have you known?” 

“Since the first day of class, you idiot, I doodled that smiley face on it when I was bored in Latin,” Harry points at the drawing in question, and Louis twists the fabric around to examine it. 

“Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?” Louis growls. They’re attracting a lot of attention now, most people in the class shooting furtive glances their way, and some outright staring, their backs to the board. 

“I didn’t think it was important. It was  _ Year 8 _ , Louis.” 

“Fuck that it wasn’t important, if you’re now demanding I give you your sweatshirt back.” 

Harry rolls his eyes.

“What’s that about anyway, you harboring some crush on me for all these years? Never got over your twelve-year-old boyfriend?” 

“Thirteen.” 

“Okay, fuck you,” Louis stands. “You care about your sweatshirt that goddamn much? Just fucking take it,” he stands, wrestling the sweatshirt off of him (it’s actually a bit of a struggle, and Harry’s definitely embarrassed to be the reason this boy is flailing and stuck in his sweatshirt in the middle of their lecture hall) then throwing it at Harry. It lands on his face, one of the sleeves slipping and hanging past his ear. “Fuck you, Harry,” Louis finishes, stomping out of the room, disregarding the professor and the fact that there’s still ten minutes left of class. 

 

Harry hides out in his room for the next few days. Just, burrows himself in his duvet and doesn’t get up except to eat and pee. He’s ashamed to admit that he maybe wears the sweatshirt, but no one has to know, so. 

He drags himself to class on Wednesday, dreading seeing Louis again, but not wanting to fall behind. Louis is talking with the professor when he arrives, no doubt explaining his abrupt departure in the previous class. 

Harry settles in his normal seat, and hopes Louis will break the class’s unspoken code just this once and give Harry a wide berth. 

He doesn’t. 

He doesn’t sit down next to him, either, but instead stands in front of his desk. Harry doesn’t acknowledge him, just continues to stare at his notebook until Louis coughs. 

“I owe you an apology,” he mumbles, and when Harry glances at him, he’s looking down at his feet. “My outburst was unwarranted, and I’m sorry.” 

Harry nods. “It’s okay. We can just forget it.” 

Louis shakes his head. “No, um. I just, feel like I should be completely honest with you. I, uh,” he pauses, glances at the girls in front of them who’ve settled into their seats by now, and instead rushes around into his own seat, pulling his chair close to Harry’s. “I developed a bit of a crush on you, this semester, and I was, frustrated, I guess you could say, when I realized you’d been lying to me.” 

Harry’s heart beats a little faster when he hears the word crush, but he doesn’t allow himself to really get his hopes up. This is still a bit of a messy situation. He folds his hands in his lap, and locks eyes with Louis. 

“So what does this mean?” 

“I’m not sure.” 

“If you like me, why were you dancing with that bulky guy at the Drama party?” 

Louis sighs, and runs a hand through his messy fringe. “Fuck, Harry. What?” He pauses, “Wait, is that what this was about?” 

Harry shrugs. 

“Fuck. Harry, fuck, you’re so stupid. Fuck.” He sighs again, and Harry glares.

“Hey. Don’t call me stupid.” 

Louis raises his eyebrows, eyes searching, then shakes his head and leans in. “Fuck it,” he says, then kisses Harry gently, but firmly. 

Harry gets lost in it immediately, completely forgetting they were in a full lecture hall, their class about to start. 

They’d only kissed a few times in Year 8, still nervous and tentative around one another, but Louis has definitely been practicing, and he’s got  _ skills  _ now. Harry’s mesmerized. 

Louis pulls away, but holds Harry’s cheeks between his hands. 

“I’m sorry for being jealous,” Harry whispers. “And for lying. I, um, like you too, if you couldn’t tell.” 

Louis smiles. “I could tell, you dork. I’m sorry for being a jerk on Monday.” 

Harry shrugs. “It’s okay.” 

“Would you like to go on a date with me, Harry Styles?” 

“More than anything, Louis Tomlinson.” 


End file.
